


Ivory and gold

by UpInOrbit



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: I Don't Even Know, M/M, Mentions of Blood, Modern Setting, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-10
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-11-14 23:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18062102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UpInOrbit/pseuds/UpInOrbit
Summary: There was a shop, tucked into a corner, cloaked by shadows. It sold herbs and spices, trinkets and charms, but everyone knew there was more. It was passed from one person to another, sweaty palms, guilty conscience, hopeful hearts. It was clandestinity, mouth to ear, hushed whispers in dark alleys to tell an open secret.It was the shop for dreams and nightmares, the place to seek the impossible. For a price, everyone could find what they were looking for, miracles and curses, life and death, wishes and needs that were forbidden anywhere else.





	Ivory and gold

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't know what this is. God knows I have so many things to do but this came to me a couple of days ago and it's been obsessing me, so I really hope you enjoy it.

There was a shop, tucked into a corner, cloaked by shadows. It sold herbs and spices, trinkets and charms, but everyone knew there was more. It was passed from one person to another, sweaty palms, guilty conscience, hopeful hearts. It was clandestinity, mouth to ear, hushed whispers in dark alleys to tell an open secret.

It was the shop for dreams and nightmares, the place to seek the impossible. For a price, everyone could find what they were looking for, miracles and curses, life and death, wishes and needs that were forbidden anywhere else.

There was a man that lived there, a man made of shadows, his head in the clouds, eyes always set on the horizon. He had a name, but humans found it hard to pronounce, strange in their tongues, harsh to their ears, and so he had taken another one, simpler, imperfect, easier: Doyoung.

Mortals came, asking for what they could find nowhere else. Doyoung would oblige, granting wishes, taking something in return.

Some requests were customary, complex in their simplicity. Many, like the boy with pastel pink hair and bright eyes, came to him, grim, grave, asking for what no one else would give them. The boy went in alone, but Doyoung could see, hidden behind the door, a group of friends, young, so young, a weeping girl in their midst. He gave the boy what he was looking for, pills that tasted of juniper and rue, a way out from a path none had planned in taking. For that, he took a sliver of the love the boy so freely gave, knowing he wouldn’t even notice it gone.

Sometimes, it was love that brought someone to him. More often than not, it was unrequited love, such as the one that had brought him a man, the best-man at the wedding of his best friend, the one that had never seen him as anything else than a brother. Doyoung took a look at his dark eyes and bright soul and gave him the words to heal his broken heart, to forget what his love looked like, taking it all away, keeping it in a jar at the shop, where the man would never find it. And for the ones that had come looking for the exact opposite thing, he gave him wings to fly somewhere else, and took the memory of that night away, a blessing in the form of a blank space in his mind.

Others went looking for a miracle, the restoration of dreams that had crumbled to pieces, slipping through their fingers like the water of a stream. He looked at the silent man whose future had been ruined when he had busted his knee, dancing no longer possible. There was fire in his eyes and rage in his heart and so he had been given a sachet that smelt of talcum powder and tears and sweat, of dreams and hopes and a road to success, to mend what had been broken, to turn back time. It all came with a price, and so the dancer had given Doyoung his first win, the joy and pride that came with it, the memory of it a drug so powerful it had fueled him forward for years.

There were also requests that were barely a whisper, words that were a prayer and a plea and a cry for help. Those were the hardest to grant, desperate wishes that cursed and maimed and killed. Some of them, he refused. Others, he didn’t, like the brothers that came in, eyes clouded in fear and hope and desperation, their faces and bodies covered in hues of blue and green and yellow, living canvas for the lazy strokes of a careless hand. Doyoung found it easy, maybe too much, to grant, a look at those split lips and wide eyes enough to make him write the words that would seal someone else’s fate, the night and two pale shadows as his only witnesses. Judge, jury, executioner. There was gratitude spilling out of the oldest’s mouth as they left, his doe eyes brimming with tears. Words that were both a prayer and a farewell, a spell to protect the both of them left Doyoung’s lips as he watched them disappear into the city.

Once in a while, something came to disturb his peaceful life. That night, it had come in the form of a feline, golden fur covered in blood, soaking his doormat. Doyoung had hesitated, doubt creeping into his mind as he stared at the unmoving form, the crimson that spread out, covering everything. But then there had been a shudder, the body moving, still breathing, alive, and so he had hooked his arms under it and had carried it inside, laid down onto the bed. He had tended to the wounds, making sure they weren’t fatal.

When morning came, gone was the animal, replaced by the sleeping form of a blonde man. He had spoken with a melodious tilt, an accent that hadn’t quite disappeared, that would probably never do. He had said his name was Yuta. Doyoung had told him to leave once his wounds had healed.

It hadn’t been fast. His wounds were deep and slow to heal, even with constant care and Doyoung couldn’t bring himself to make the male leave. Days turned to weeks to months, and the changeling would still be there. Slowly, Yuta had nested himself into Doyoung’s life, a guardian to his store, golden and tangible, deeply rooted to earth, everything Doyoung was not.

Like calls to like, and so Doyoung found himself with customers that were not human, sometimes even incapable of dying, beings out of legends that found in Doyoung’s shop a place to be.

Sometimes, they came in search of magical remedies for magical problems, such as the vampire nest that walked in, asking for a cure for their endless bloodlust. Doyoung had given it to them, liquids that were cold and hard to swallow, but that quenched the thirst like only blood did. They had then given him their human lives, whatever they retained from the times in which their heart’s still beat.

There were werewolves that came, looking for something to stop the pain from their recent turning. Doyoung had given them herbs to mute the pain that came from the continuous shuffling and breaking of their bones, shaking his head when they had asked for the payment. Still, they had bowed deep, and sworn to come to his aid if need arose.

Even preternatural beings had mundane problems, and they came to him, looking for a solution that could not be found elsewhere. That was the case of he who had once been a man, an old soul in an eternally young body, moonlight coloring his hair, who begged him for release, his only wish to be spared of the eternal life he had once so desperately sought. It was Doyoung who had taken away his youth, the weight of all the knowledge in the world from his shoulders, allowing him to breathe for the first time in millennia. It was Yuta who had nudged him to the awaiting arms of the human who had unexpectedly fallen for him. 

There was something akin to content in Doyoung’s heart, until there came words that slipped out of a mouth, spilling from a blonde man like water overflowing a dam, spoken so fast and low it was almost impossible to decipher them, even more so when he switched languages. But there are things that are universal and so Doyoung knew what was being said to him, even if he couldn’t comprehend the foreign sounds. He stared at Yuta, lovely, golden Yuta, hard, long, long enough that the male disappeared and Doyoung was left alone, unable to move.

It was hard to get used to it, the vacant space where Yuta used to be. The store seemed empty, too big for him, even if he had always been alone. There was something like yearning in his heart, settled deep in his bones, impossible to ignore.

Doyoung wasn’t prepared when it all happened. Only desperate people came to see him, and most of the time those people were unable to do anything but beg for help. It wasn’t like that, that night. They were loud and violent and brash, threatening him, destroying his work. There were words, heavy in his mouth, deadly in their effects, only in need of air to put an end to it. But they were prepared, and before he could form them, the whole world faded to black.

Doyoung had barely awoken when he felt him, more than he saw him. Around him, everything was mayhem, shelves broken, glass on the floor. Standing by the door, was Yuta. He almost glowed under the moonlight, blood staining his clothes, dripping to the tiles. 

He was ivory and gold, caressed by silver. Doyoung rushed to him and Yuta fell to his knees, rivers of mercury flowing down his cheeks, mixing with blood on their way to the ground. The crimson underneath his knees was growing with every passing heartbeat. Doyoung was flooded with memories of another night, days, weeks, months, a lifetime ago, as he picked him up, cradling him to his chest, and tended to his wounds.

Yuta looked at him, his heart on his sleeve, hope in his eyes. And hope is such a fragile and powerful thing, granter of life, harbinger of death, a blessing and a curse, a knife and a ring. Doyoung looked at Yuta, and he granted him his wish, taking his heart with him, the price to pay. And for that, he gave him his own heart, his to keep and guard, and words that we had never said to anyone else.

Yuta was ivory and gold, and Doyoung was obsidian and silver, Yuta his tether to earth, Doyoung his way to the sky. They were different and stubborn and each other’s dream.

**Author's Note:**

> The ending feels kind of rushed but it's also the best thing I could come up with. I really hope you've enjoyed this ^^ (and in case you were wondering, yes, the mentioned people were referencing NCT members)  
> Comments and kudos warm my heart!
> 
> [tw](https://twitter.com/monstaruniverse) || [cc](https://curiouscat.me/Val_99)
> 
> \- Val


End file.
